Bad Day
by Agent Striker
Summary: Dr. Emily Grace had a horrible day. Things do get a bit better when Constable George Crabtree makes an appearance...Total Fluff, one shot, no real spoilers!


**This one shot came to me after a bad day of my own…and morphed into some fluffiness. No spoilers really…and I haven't seen season 7 SO IF SOMETHING HAS CHANGED DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME BECAUSE CANADA DOESN'T SEE FIT TO SHARE THEIR CBC VIDEO PLAYER WITH US AMERICANS SO UNLESS SOMEONE WANTS TO GET THE EPISODES TO ME SOMEHOW, I HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE DVDS TO COME OUT, OKAY?**

**Sorry, that's a sore subject…read on! (And all errors are mine and I own nothing).**

* * *

_SMASH!_

The sound of shattering glass filled the morgue and threatened to shatter what was left of Dr. Emily Grace's already fragile nerves. Biting back a very unladylike curse, she placed the brain she had nearly dropped back on the ice tray and turned to locate the cause of the noise.

Of her two laboratory assistants, Mr. Lafferty was by far the most incompetent. And today, he had caused so much pandemonium that she was wondering why he had ever been hired at all. "What _are_ you doing?" she demanded, throwing up her hands and resisting the urge to shout some terrible things at the man.

"Washing the glassware like you asked, ma'am," he stuttered, taking a small step back. The glassware had been indeed washed, but now three of her new beakers were in a million pieces across the clean lab floor.

"More like dropping it," she muttered under her breath. Taking a threatening step forward, Dr. Grace snarled at her poor assistant, "Do you know how much that cost? It'll be coming out of your salary! And for heaven's sake, how many times do I have to tell you, it's _Doctor_!"

"I'm so sorry, ma- Dr. Grace," Mr. Lafferty offered, looking more than slightly terrified. Dr. Grace had been unusually snappish today and her disposition hadn't been improved by all his klutziness, "I'll clean it up right away."

Closing her eyes for a moment, Dr. Grace counted three deep breaths, then shook her head, "No, no. It's late; just go home, Mr. Lafferty. It's been a long day for both of us. I'll take care of it."

Smart enough to know that he was lucky to be walking away from this encounter in one piece, Mr. Lafferty scurried away, muttering a quick thank you before disappearing out the front door.

"What a mess," the doctor muttered. She quickly washed up her hands and reached for the broom, which stood in the corner instead of tucked away in the closet. Mr. Lafferty had been in need of it earlier, after he had dropped a tray of samples that Detective Murdoch had needed directly. Needless to say, Mr. Lafferty had made himself scarce while _she _took the brunt of a very frustrated Detective Murdoch's anger. Not that she blamed the detective, she'd promised to have the samples ready first thing that morning.

Sighing, the doctor pressed the hand against her throbbing head. It had been a bad day. A horrible, terrible day. And it had started out so well.

A beautiful Friday morning with just a touch of spring in the air and a brand new blouse, it had promised to be a good day. Then she had wasted too much time arranging her hair, and in a rush to eat _something _before work, she'd doused herself with a scalding cup of tea, effectively ruining her blouse.

As it was Friday, almost all of her other blouses were dirty and she'd been forced to wear an ugly, dowdy one that she kept to appease the relative who had given it to her. And she was running so late she had missed her streetcar and had to hike all the way to the morgue (in the cold, damp day that had developed as soon as she was out of sight of her home and warm clothes. But really, what had she been thinking dressing for spring weather? It was barely mid February!), making her half an hour late for work.

Then of course, she'd arrived to find three new bodies from three different station houses cluttering up her freezer, all with agitated detectives demanding instant results. Then her best lab technician, Mr. Mortimer, had called to say that he had come down with a cold and wouldn't be in work all day. And if her sore throat that went with her throbbing head meant anything, Mr. Mortimer had shared his cold before he left.

On top of it all, she was left very shorthanded with just the clumsy Mr. Lafferty. They'd had to rearrange the entire freezer in order to find a place for their new customers and _twice _that twit Lafferty had run over her feet with one of the gurneys.

Her new shoes had seemed a much better idea this morning before her hike. And rearranging the freezer. Now all she had to show was blisters and expensive scuffed shoes. Why had she spent so much on them? Oh…that's right, they were extremely handsome and she had felt that a small treat had been in order after…well, blast it, they were very handsome!

Aside from the slight limp her shoes had given her, the ruined sample incident had pushed her so far behind she hadn't gotten her lunch break (or a chance to use the lavatory for that matter). She hadn't gotten to any of her paperwork done either.

She had been hassled and stressed all day, frustrated close to tears more than once, and quite ready to throw in the towel. However, going home and having a nice cry was not an option when one was a very professional lady medical examiner.

And _that_, was why, on a Friday night, Dr. Emily Grace was barefoot and alone in her morgue, filling out an endless stack of paperwork.

* * *

She had dismissed Mr. Lafferty for the day about half past five and by ten 'til eight she had a good forty-five minutes of work left. Sighing, she peeled her aching self from her chair and padded over to the filing cabinets. She was thinking that it was quiet inconsiderate that five of her six patients were all large men that had to be hauled around from place to place when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror at the back of her office.

"Oh my_,_"she groaned, closing the file cabinet, "has my hair looked like that all day?" She frowned at the mirror and quickly yanked all the pins out, "No wonder I've been getting strange stares. I look-"

Her rant was interrupted by the sound of the heavy morgue doors opening. She considered throwing herself under the desk and pretending that she wasn't there, but her shoes and jacket were in plain sight by the coat rack. Of all the times-

She hastily ran her fingers through her hair but before she got very far, a familiar voice rang out, "Dr. Grace?"

"Back here, George," she replied, cringing at the state of…well, her whole person.

George came around the corner, with a particularly wide grin on his handsome face, "Hello, Emily! I just got off duty and saw that your light was still on and I was wondering-" he paused when he saw her (she was picturing it was a pause of horror at her disheveled appearance), "Why, you look lovely. I like what you've done with your hair."

She stared at him in disbelief for a second, glancing again at the mirror. He couldn't be serious; her dark hair was a giant, frizzy mat. And that horrid blouse!

"You are too kind," she replied with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Still smiling, George took a couple of steps towards her, "I mean it, you look bea- quite dashing."

"Dashing?" Dr. Grace replied, stepping around the constable to pick up another file.

George's face reddened and, sounding rather flustered, he tried again, "I just- well, I mean that-"

Squeezing the bridge of her nose with her forefingers, Emily held up her hands, "Stop, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be short with you. Thank you for the compliment."

George released a relieved smile, "In that case, you're welcome. Have a long day?"

Emily snorted (very unladylike), "That is certainly one way to describe it."

Spinning his helmet in his hands, George nodded sympathetically, "It happens to the best of us. Would you like to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

George shrugged, not remotely off-put, "Well, we, I guess should say, Detective Murdoch, wrapped up another case today. Quite brilliantly, too."

"The Henderson murders?" Emily asked, looking up from the sheet she was writing on.

"Yes, would you believe that it was the butler? Personally, I always say that the butler _must _be involved even though it rarely pans out, but today it did-"

Emily turned back to her work thoughtfully, "No wonder he didn't come back for the samples. I thought he was just angry."

"What samples?"

"The ones from the last victim that Mr. Lafferty the Twit ruined and _I _took the blame for."

"'Mr. Lafferty the Twit?'" George asked, sitting down on the edge of her desk, "I thought you liked Lafferty."

"He was useless today…" she stopped for a moment, "but I guess I do generally like him. I'll have to apologize on Monday, I was an absolute terror to him."

George reached out to squeeze her hand sympathetically, but she was already across the room with another paper to file away. He retracted his hand but continued the conversation, "Even Henry gets on my nerves now and again. I'm sure that Lafferty won't take it to hard."

"I hope so. Training new assistants is so bothersome."

The conversation died away for a few moments as Emily scribbled on this and filed that. Noticing she was barefoot, George didn't bother to ask the reasoning behind it, instead deciding to carry out his reason for being in the morgue at eight fifteen on a Friday night.

Gulping once, he straightened his uniform when Emily turned to dig something out of her desk drawer. "I almost forgot why I stopped by," he fibbed, "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me. Just at Watson's," he finished hurriedly, referring to a casual pub and restaurant just a few blocks from Station Four and the morgue.

"I am so behind, I really-" Emily's excuse was cut off by a loud growl.

George threw his head back and laughed, while Emily blushed, "I know you're hungry, you can't refuse me now!"

"But I have so much to catch up on…"

"Like what? You look pretty much finished to me," George said, standing up and grabbing the doctor's light jacket off the hook.

Glancing around, Emily noted that she _was _pretty much done…if the Henderson case was wrapped up, she didn't need to finish writing the whole official report for her files out until Monday...her stomach growled again and she folded, "Alight, you've convinced me."

She fought back the urge to grimace as she slid her feet into new shoes before letting George help her with her jacket. "It's rather chilly, tonight," George mentioned as he offered his arm to the pretty doctor, "will you be warm enough?"

Emily shrugged, "It was such a beautiful morning when I got up. I thought it would be warmer."

"Tricky February weather," the constable agreed. They strolled arm and arm out of the morgue and he cautiously asked, "Is the weather the reason behind your bad day?"

"It was a factor. But I don't want to bore you with the details."

"It might make you feel better," he suggested.

They walked in silence, Emily moving as close as was decent to George and his warmth. He really did seem to want to hear about her day…

"Well, it all started with my excessive vanity and a cup of tea…"

* * *

By the time they reached Watson's, George had her laughing and in a much better mood. He always did have that effect on her.

They slid into a booth right by the fire (her fingers were numb despite George's best efforts) and ordered the day's special: Watson's own fine stew and fluffy corn muffins. It wasn't the place Emily would have ever ventured into by herself (or with her family…or with Jerome…), but she loved the atmosphere, almost as much as she loved the company.

She and George talked, ate, and laughed. Topics ranged from music to books to workplace gossip to fashion to ghost stories. By the end of the evening, Emily was perfectly warmed, inside and out.

She knew that it was getting late and her tired eyes were telling her it was time to go home, but she wasn't quite ready to take her leave. As it was, it was close to ten and about the third time she nearly nodded off mid sentence when George suggested it was time to go.

"I'll walk with you if you'd like," George offered shyly.

Swallowing a yawn, Emily nodded, "I would like that."

The check and dishes had long been taken care of, and as they stood to leave, both smiled and thanked the proprietress when she walked past. Mrs. Watson thought the world of George Crabtree and positively giggled when he offered his heavy woolen police coat to the petite doctor with him. They made quite the couple in her opinion.

"Are you sure you'll be warm enough?" Emily demanded, although she would have been happy to take the coat. Her fingers already tingled at the thought of the cold wind outside.

"I'll be fine," George assured her, helping her put it on.

The warm coat smelled like George, she decided, in a good way, and was quite cozy. George decided that she look quite adorable in it and he'd be cold for the rest of the winter to keep that silly grin plastered on her face for the walk home.

Walking with George, Emily forgot about her blistered feet and ruined blouse. Even the ruined samples and broken glass slipped her mind. _A bad day in a good life_, she decided, and in reality, this evening had made it felt like a stellar day.

Emily nearly continued on when George stopped. She looked confused for a moment, but then realized they'd come to her home. Which meant she should relinquish her- _his_ jacket. Hastily, she pulled it off, hoping that he didn't notice her blush in the dim streetlight.

They stood there awkwardly before they both spoke at the same time, "Thank you so much for making my day so much better," Emily said while George said, "I guess I should go, but I have something for you."

They stared at one another for a moment before bursting into laugher. "I'm glad to have spent the evening you," George replied with a mock bow. He pulled something out of his coat and handing it to the doctor, "Happy Valentine's Day."

It was a lovely printed card, with red ribbon and lace, and a little poem from the constable-author himself at the center. Emily stood speechless, "I completely forgot it was Valentine's Day!" she declared, "I can't believe it…and I don't have anything for you-"

George raised a hand and stopped her with a very serious face, "After the day you've had, I'm not surprised you forgot. And spending time with you is the best thing I could ask for."

Emily flung her arms around _her_ constable's neck, feeling uncharacteristically sentimental, and planted a kiss right smack on his lips. Heavens, she'd never get over how much she loved to kiss this man. Or the way he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a warm, tingly feeling from her head to her toes. Or how every day she spent with him ended up being a good one. She pulled away first, giggling to see a sloppy grin mirroring her own on George's face.

George loved that smile. So, he kissed her again, just for good measure, to keep it there.

Happy Valentine's Day indeed.

* * *

**I've never written a Murdoch Mystery fic before, but I rather like this one…George and Emily are my favorite couple…followed by the Brackenreids (I'm sorry, I just think they're so cute!). I think I'm in the minority that enjoyed Julia's absence in season 5. I **_**really **_**don't like her for whatever reason. *Hides* Please don't stone me!**

**Review if you'd like (no hate mail please, just stick your tongue out at the screen) or don't if you'd rather not.**

**Ciao!**

**~Striker**


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